Checkmate
by Yemam2422
Summary: Post 2.13 Angsty smut featuring @yasmijo prompt: "Beth and Rio play a game of chess…you decide how it ends."


Beth hurt all over. It even hurt to breathe. Every inhale felt like shards of glass entering her lungs. Displacing Rio as a boss in Detroit had proven difficult. And dangerous. And now almost deadly.

She'd arranged a meeting with a contact of a contact of contact who was interested in working with her. The game of six degrees of separation should have been the first warning sign. Rio always told her to forget the middle man, it was a waste of time, no exceptions. She should have listened but she was fueled by determination, and fear of failure. Shooting Rio could not have been for nothing. She needed her own money laundering business to work. So she showed up at a dilapidated warehouse in an area she didn't know despite the voice in the back of her head quietly shouting to turn around.

A rustling sound caught her attention as soon as she opened the door, followed by a swoosh of air. She had no time to react before her skull exploded with pain. She lay on the concrete, familiar black chuck taylors entering her field of vision before she slipped into unconsciousness.

Beth opened her eyes slowly, her head screaming with pain. She tentatively sat up and touched the bump at the top right of her hairline, finding the area matted with blood. Red drops spotted the front of her shirt. She was fully clothed, but her shoes had been taken off, evenly lined up on the floor beside her. The aroma of food managed to break through her confused senses. What was she smelling? The kids never even microwaved and Dean moved out.

Beth bolted upright onto her feet at the realization she wasn't home. Dizziness made her sway, everything around her zooming in and out of focus, but she fought for concentration, trying to piece together where she was and how she got there. A meeting, a warehouse, and then pain. Dots stopped connecting there.

Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. She'd been on a couch that occupied the corner of small room. No, it was a cabin, the walls were made of split logs. Next to her, a black leather recliner grouped with a coffee table and floor lamp on a simple patterned rug. Across was a small kitchen. A fireplace took up most of another wall, crackling with flames, bookshelves on either side. Her survey stalled on the shadow of a silhouette.

"Who are you?" she blurted.

The shadow took a step closer.

"Stay away from me," Beth tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, fully aware she was in no condition to fight off anyone.

"Don't be afraid, Elizabeth. I'm not going to hurt you." The voice was low and scratchy and immediately familiar.

"Surprise." Rio finally stepped out of the shadows, into the soft lighting of the fireplace and lamp.

Beth stared. Simply stared. She choked back a rush of hot bile and dizziness, this time from seeing a living and breathing Rio. Panic seized her. But just for a moment. Oddly, her shock lasted for only a few blinks. Of course he was alive. He was always flipping his game. Wasn't coming back to life the ultimate demonstration of that? Dozens of questions raced through her mind but she asked none of them. All were meaningless. Whatever circumstances led Rio to this moment with her didn't matter. All that did was that he's alive.

And she's relieved.

Shooting Rio, killing him, was supposed to make Beth's life easier. To lift the weight of the world off her shoulders. No more crime, no more lies, no more bodies. But the lightness, the release never came. First was the grief. The intense, overwhelming heartache of taking someone's life. Guilt clouded her mind, filled her sleep with nightmares. She'd been so foolish to think she could walk away from him unscathed.

"Did you do this to me?" she asked. He wore dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt, a departure from the all black she was accustomed to. His hair was still short, but he had more scruff than normal. His face looked more lived-in, more creases around the eyes. She searched his features for clues into what kind of anger and vengeance was coming her way. But his cool brown eyes were flat, his expression impassive, as if she hadn't put three bullets through his chest.

Rio smiled, a slow grin, like a panther that just spotted prey. He didn't say anything, his silence more menacing than if he'd said 'yes.' 

"Answer me." Beth drew herself up straight, determined to stay calm.

"I saved you."

"What?"

"That deal you were trying to make? It was with the leader of the Bishops." Seeing the confusion on Beth's face, Rio explained, "Another gang. He's not looking to work with anybody. He'll do whatever it takes to get rid of competition. Especially you."

"Why?"

"Me and him, we had a truce. You made everything fair game when you shot me."

And there it was. The elephant in the room. So much for small talk.

"So you kidnapped me?"

To her irritation, the corner of Rio's mouth lifted in a smirk as he watched her demeanor change from shocked to defiant. He recognized the stubborn set of her mouth, the blue glow of her eyes.

"You can go." Rio gestured to her purse on the floor, her phone sitting on top of it, which she hadn't noticed before. "But you have a bulls eye on your back right now. The Bishops, Turner. You need to lay low for a couple days. I have my guys smoothing things over."

"Why are you helping me?"

Rio never intended to help Beth. Or for anyone else to ever enter this cabin, especially her. After getting out of the hospital four months ago he holed himself up here, recovering, planning his next move. No one outside of Turner, Marcus and his ex-wife knew he was alive. Marcus was resilient, understood when he explained that he'd have to stay with his Mom for a few months. A promised trip to Lego Land sealed the deal.

A lot of time went into planning revenge against Beth. How he'd make her wash money until her fingers were raw. Maybe get into some manufacturing. But when rumblings of her meeting with the Bishops made its way to him, his protective instincts took over. He knew she was in deep shit, but it was worse than he imagined. If he had gotten to the warehouse a couple of minutes later he would have likely found her dead rather than just unconscious.

He could have left her there. He'd seen people die before. Usually adept at staying composed, he was rattled by her limp, bleeding body. Even though he was trying to forget about her, move on, he couldn't so easily dismiss her, ignore what had formed between them – that intangible thing, energy, connection – since that first grocery store robbery.

He couldn't say any of that to her. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping only an inch in front of her, and handed her a glass of water. Beth took it, grateful to relieve her suddenly parched throat.

"I need to use the bathroom." It was true but more importantly, Beth needed a moment to catch her breath, stop her heart from racing. The usual symptoms of being near Rio.

"On the left." He nodded toward a small hallway.

Wobbly, she made her way to the bathroom. A bedroom was across the hall, the only other room in the cabin. The bathroom was small but functional with a toilet, stall shower and small vanity. Beth didn't recognize the reflection staring back at her in the mirror. Pale skin, sunken eyes, colorless lips, matted hair. She took several calming breaths and did her best to wash the blood off her hands and face. She peeked into the cabinet and found basic essentials. No weapons – for either her or him. There was a small window, too small to climb out of. Escape would have to come some other way.

Uncertain of what to do when she stepped back into the main room, she just stood there and watched as Rio stood over the stove, stirring a pot then placing dishes on the kitchen table. His casualness, as if she was a regular houseguest, astounded her, frightened her a little bit. A furious outburst, threats of retaliation would be normal reactions to someone who tried to kill you.

"You should eat," Rio finally suggested as he ladled soup into a bowl.

"I'm not hungry."

Rio slid another glass of water, two white pills and saltines onto the table.

"For your headache."

Confused by his care and concern, Beth sat at the small round table with only chairs for two. Rio joined her.

"You sure you don't want any?" Rio asked before spooning a bite of soup.

"Where are we? I never pictured you as a mountain man."

Beth needed answers. The rustic cabin with limited comforts was a far cry from the high-end cosmopolitan apartment she'd last seen in him in.

"I like having options."

"Are we still in Michigan?" 

"Yes."

"How far am I from home?" They lived close to a national forest, a 30-minute drive. Maybe that's where he'd taken her.

"Not far."

"I want to go home."

"Go ahead. You ready to hike down a mountain?"

Rio propped his elbow on the table, settled his cheek in the palm of his hand, and regarded her calmly, deriving satisfaction from her obvious discomfort at his logic.

"You can drive me. Isn't that how I got here?"

"I'm not taking you anywhere until I get the all clear from my guys."

Beth sat indecisively for a minute, her eyes holding his. He was right, she was in no condition to venture out alone. A concussion and dark forest were not a good mix. And he knew better than anyone the dangerous workings of Detroit's criminal underbelly.

"Elizabeth..." His name was part statement, part question, his patience thinning. "You're safe here. Do you trust me?"

Their eyes locked across the table. Seconds ticked by while they continued to stare as if neither believed the other was there. But he was real. Beth could remember things about him that only two people who had been intimate would know. Like how he was quiet when he came, how he was a little ticklish. Yet he was still a complete stranger to her. A stranger who had saved her.

Beth averted her gaze to the crackling fire, watching the flames leap and crackle. With reasoning that no one else would understand, that Beth barely understood herself, she replied.

"Yes."

"Good." Rio stood up at the finality of her decision, cleared and washed the dishes. He pointed to the bedroom. "Take the bed. I'll take the couch."

"No, I'm fine on the couch." Beth sat on it in demonstration of her seriousness. Rio looked prepared to argue but instead walked into the bathroom. He came out holding a bottle of peroxide and towel, pulling a chair in front of her.

"I can do that."

"Relax." He tilted her head toward him and dabbed her wound. She sat there, strained, trying to ignore the immense pain. But it was hard to think of anything with him so close. She didn't like him touching her but only because of the tingles that tightened her middle. Because it reminded her of how gently his fingers explored her body that afternoon in her bedroom. How urgently they'd pressed into her in the bar bathroom. Her cheeks grew hot at the memories. It was senseless, but there it was, that unexplainable attraction. She didn't breath until he said "all done" and stepped away.

He walked into the bedroom and came back with a t-shirt, just like the one he was wearing.

"It's all I got."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Elizabeth."

"Good night."

Beth changed out of her clothes and managed to fall asleep, cocooned in a blanket and pillow, her body entirely exhausted, her mind fatigued. But her sleep was fitful. She woke up multiple times to find Rio keeping vigil by the couch. He didn't say anything or touch her so she couldn't distinguish what was real or what was a dream. Imagined or not, she accepted the invisible comfort of his hazy presence by her side.

The next morning Beth woke up to coffee brewing. Her muscles were cramped from lying on the small couch. She stretched, wincing at the ache all over her body, especially her head. Low, darker sunlight was coming through the windows so she knew she slept late. Rested but still groggy, she slowly stood up to use the bathroom. Before making it there, Rio walked out of the bedroom, in a different white t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"Fine." She tugged her snug shirt to reach farther down her thighs.

"You should eat something."

"How did you wash these?" Beth pointed to her clothes, noticing them clean and neatly folded on the arm of the couch.

"I have a portable washing machine. Eighty-bucks on Amazon. Some people are genius, man."

"You didn't have to do that. Thank you."

"My boys called. We have to hang tight until tomorrow morning. Still some loose ends to take care of."

"Okay."

The next hours passed in a strange, quiet comfort. As if they were a new couple on a weekend getaway, almost bashful at times. Eating a late breakfast together, Beth insisting to help with the dishes, retreating to their own corners of the room to read, sharing a grilled cheese lunch. Beth napped a couple of times, recovering from her concussion. But they weren't a couple. They should have been enemies. But they weren't exactly that either. The nebulous, confusing status of their relationship lurked heavy in the air.

It was evening when Rio suggested a game of chess.

"You know how to play?" he asked.

"Yes."

Rio pulled a wooden chess board off one of the bookshelves. It was inlaid with light and dark squares. A matching handcrafted box held the pieces, each intricately carved with delicate details on their bases. The same design outlined the border of the chessboard. It all looked high-end and expensive, Beth thought. Much different than the plastic and cardboard version she learned on. But it suited Rio perfectly.

Rio was thirteen when he started playing, taught by his grandfather who showed him how to stay a step ahead of his opponent. The thrill of anticipating his next move and seeing how the game became more aggressive as it developed immediately intrigued Rio. He was too young then to understand what his grandfather meant when he said chess was like life. Play for the advantage, be aware of threats and opportunities, always have an escape route.

Beth hadn't played in years, not since passing time with her grandfather in his nursing home with chess and rummy. She liked the rules and logic to the game. There was a certain order to it that calmed her. There was no such thing as emotion or making the rules as you go in chess. Not like her life had been for the past year.

"Flip a coin for white?" Rio asked as they set up the board. The player with white pieces had the advantage of making the first move.

"Sure."

Rio fished a quarter out of his wallet.

"Heads or tails?"

"Tails."

Rio flicked the coin in the air with his thumb, caught it, covered it on the back of his hand to drag out the reveal, smirking at the anticipation he saw in Beth's eyes. George Washington was face up when he lifted his hand.

"Heads. I start."

Every chess move meant gaining or losing control over a part of the board so Rio started with his favorite piece, the pawn, to the center, readying his queen for defense. Rio loved developing his pawns even though a lot of people overlooked them. They outnumbered other pieces, their value changed depending on the pieces around it, and they could be easily sacrificed to gain a stronger position. Pawns were good at flipping the game.

Beth breathed deeply, preparing for the competition, brushing a piece of hair off her face. Rio's used every ounce of his self control to not do it for her. He missed that.

It took Beth a few moves to loosen up, but when she did she was a worthy opponent. A comfortable silenced enveloped the room as they played. The humming of the old refrigerator and the tapping of pieces on the board the only sounds. The game moved quickly as they fell into a speedy rhythm to control the center squares and get their kings to safety.

They watched each other intently, looking for patterns, clues, giveaways. Instinctively, they moved closer together as the game progressed, scooting their chairs closer to the table, leaning over the board. In one fast exchange of pieces, their hands brushed against each other, Rio going for a rook before Beth set her knight. For a moment, his hand covered hers, lingered there until Beth jolted away.

"_Focus on the board, not the player,"_ her grandfather would always say. That was hard to do when your opponent was someone she thought she killed, someone who had the ability to look deep into her, through her.

Beth's strategy was to sacrifice pieces for tactical complications, keeping Rio at the edges of the board. But she didn't realize how weakened her defenses were until it was too late. Without taking his eyes off her, Rio reached across the chessboard, picked up his queen, suspended it in the air before placing it diagonal opposite his king.

"Check…" he said. Beth inspected the board one last time for a sign of hope but she was trapped.

"Mate," he finished, toppling the black king on its side, finalizing Beth's defeat. "The king is dead."

Rio's words echoed in the room, reverberated with the past, with three deafening gunshots. The irony wasn't lost on either of them. Beth was too stunned to move. She swallowed visibly but said nothing. Her eyes lowered to the chessboard then back up to Rio. He was looking at her like the rest of the room, the rest of the world, didn't exist. Just him and her.

Not only did their stares blend, cut so did their memories. Each remembered the smell and touch and taste of the other. Beth remembered Rio's face when she shot him. A mix of incredulity and outrage. His eyes a hard, cold glare that made her shiver even now. Rio recalled the way pride and arousal mixed into his furious shock as Beth pulled the trigger. How right before that he thought Beth could have been his queen, by his side for life.

Rio knew he shouldn't touch her, really shouldn't. There was palpable tension in his shoulders, but it disappeared when he reached across the table to push her hair from her face.

No longer able to meet his stare, Beth lowered her eyes, his closeness suddenly suffocating her. She stood up and started fussing around the couch, fluffing her pillow, looking for any task to occupy herself with, put space between them.

"I'm exhausted. I'm going to take a shower and call it a night."

"Towels are in the hallway closet."

Rio retreated outside for a quick walk, trying to ignore the bittersweet ache of being around Beth. When he came back inside he was greeted by the familiar scent of his bar soap and shampoo and found Beth standing in front of the fireplace with wet hair, wearing one of his button down shirts. And nothing else.

"I hope you don't mind. I borrowed a shirt." Beth felt his gaze where the shirt hugged her curves at her hips and chest, only a few buttons done. Her breath caught when his eyes moved to where the hem of the shirt hit the top of her thighs. When he brought his eyes back up to hers, electricity jumped between them, the atmosphere crackled.

"No problem." He went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of bourbon from a cabinet.

"You were holding out on me?" Beth asked with a smile.

He poured both of them a glass and tossed his back quickly, trying to distract himself from the blood funneling downward in his body, from the creamy smooth skin that he knew would feel so soft and warm under him.

"You should take the bed tonight," he said.

"I'm fine on the couch."

"You sure?" He was in no mood to argue.

Beth nodded.

"Good night, Elizabeth," he said slipping into his bedroom, but not before seeing confusion and arousal in her eyes that matched his own.

"Good night."

Something woke Beth. Maybe a dream, a nightmare, maybe the wind. It was still night, everything in total darkness, but Beth had no sense of time. Without thought, instinctively, she walked to the bedroom. To Rio. She longed for him.

She stopped at his bedroom doorway, barely able to make out his sleeping silhouette through the sliver moonlight angling in through the drapes. She took a tentative step forward, then another, until the mattress dipped with her weight as she crawled onto it.

Rio's eyes remained closed but he rolled onto his side, his knees automatically straightened, his arms wrapped around her as if he'd expected her. His body heat immediately enveloped her.

Beth heard herself whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She couldn't explain more than that. All she was sure of was he felt so good, so right. Beth pressed her lips against both sides of his neck, where she knew his tattoo ended.

Rio traced his fingers along her spine, resting them at the small of her back. He rubbed circles there, applying just enough pressure to tilt her hips towards his, to fit him in the notch of her thighs. Beth welcomed his hardness, her legs opened with an unmistakable invitation.

Rio couldn't decide if he should hurry or take his time, the moment finally catching up to his sleepy brain. Was he dreaming this? In which case he'd fantasize however he wanted. Was this real? Would Beth reject him again when it was over? Because then he'd take his time. Savor her, treat himself to her kisses, her body, before she disappeared.

Sensing his hesitation, Beth waited, didn't move. Before she could say or do anything Rio covered her lips with his. He kissed her long and deep, like it was the last thing he would ever do. It started slow but soon became urgent, barely controlled, hungry. He bit her lower lip, sucked it into his mouth. He pulled at the top of her shirt where the collar fell open around the swell of her chest and hastily undid the buttons, pulled it off her. He palmed her breast, full and soft, drawing his thumb across the tip. She responded as he expected, small gasps, restless hips. He knew her so well.

Beth pulled away to dust his chest with kisses, seeking the three scars, kissing each one as if healing them. Her hands went to his sweatpants, insistent and impatient, pulled them down, caressed his smooth length from base to tip, finding him tight and full and hot.

Beth arched into his hand when he slid it between her legs, pressing, circling, stroking. Making her hotter and wetter. He nuzzled her neck, nipped her with his teeth. She whimpered in arousal. He moved to position himself between her thighs. She gasped at the first stroke of his tongue, and then just surrendered as he licked and sucked her into his mouth. He touched her with such precision that it didn't take long for an orgasm to shatter her.

Rio didn't wait for her to recover before getting onto his knees, tilting her hips up, spreading them wide. He slid into her in one strong glide. The sensation of being filled and stretched by him was immediately familiar, satisfying, comforting. Rio started moving powerfully, possessively, their bodies quickly syncing. She matched his short, quick thrusts and long, smooth strokes. When he teased her, almost pulled out, she circled her hips around his tip until he couldn't take it, plunging into her again.

When she came again, he felt every clench and shudder. But what made him come harder and longer than he ever had in his life were the tears he saw fall from her eyes. The way she wrapped her arms around him, held him close and whispered his name for the first time, "Rio."

Neither of them moved for a long time after. When Beth finally opened her eyes Rio was lying on his back. Through the moonlight she could see a sheen of sweat on his body, same as on hers. The silver light bounced off the smooth slopes and dips of his muscles.

Feeling her stare he turned to look at her. She reached out and brushed her fingers over the three scars on his chest.

Eventually Beth whispered, as if afraid to ask, afraid of the answer. "What are we doing?"

Rio brushed the tears from her cheeks. She was suffering, her features tortured and emotional. As much as Rio thought it was deserved, there were consequences for trying to kill someone, he couldn't bear to see it.

Everything between them had been difficult from day one and seemed to get even more difficult with each day. Just like in chess, one bad move and everything is ruined. Rio just had to hope he knew what he was doing.


End file.
